


Luck

by TheVelvetOverhead



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Body Worship, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Naked Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 03:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14662428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVelvetOverhead/pseuds/TheVelvetOverhead
Summary: John would be lying if he said that he knows every millimetre of her body.





	Luck

Goodneighbor sleeps a deep slumber to the rhythm of silence. Quietly, the daydream not being interrupted by the dull murmur of voices or the prolonged and hollow echoes of the neighbours’ footsteps. Everything is completely immersed in an inexorable tranquillity, almost anodyne. Nonetheless, Hancock is unable to fall asleep. The cold, damp air seeps through the cracks of the half-open window, caressing his face with its thin, icy fingers.

He inhales. He inhales deeply and eats the room’s oxygen with a long look across it. His eyes flicking left and right, ahead and behind, boringly listing each and every one of the items that decorate the place. And then he sees her on the bed. Her—Nora. _His Nora_. He cocks his body in her direction, his right arm under the pillow where his head rests and watches her sleepy form. _Wow, what a great view_. Her skin, white as porcelain, against the discoloured fabric that sags, wrinkling around her waist. Her hair, wavy and long, falls like a waterfall down her long, bare back.

He lacks air; he can feel himself drowning and then realizes that he has even forgotten how to breathe. He extends his arm and delicately grasps an errant lock of hair between his forefinger and thumb. He takes it to his lips and kisses it before releasing it. His curious fingers, as if they were moved by another’s will, slid along the length of her back, pushing aside the undulating curtain that conceals it. Hancock then touches her, feeling his calloused fingertips against her flesh; exploring every curve and every nook, and is surprised to feel that she’s cold to the touch.

He would be lying if he said that he knows every millimetre of her.

John confirms his suspicions as soon as he exposes the wings of her shoulder blades; he separates the muscles that act as his lips and starts counting the moles that, like myriads of stars, frost the pristine canvas of her skin. His index and middle fingers, like the legs of an imaginary little man wander from one to the other, roaming from her neck to her hips.

She’s beautiful. And more, much more than that. He’s not the only one in the entire Commonwealth who thinks so after all. She’s incredibly attractive, from head to toe. So much that he cannot help but feel an aftertaste of sex in the enzymes of his tongue, mixed with the sweet taste of her swan neck. She’s unique like no other—the only one of her kind, which means that no one can equate her boldness and courage. Hancock’s thoughts wander and, like his gaze, they run down her hips, sliding along each of her curves. He still doesn’t know what he has done to deserve her. He still can’t decide if it’s fair to have her. In the end, John can only pray and hope that he can make her as happy in return.

He clicks his tongue; he’s lost count. He allows his left hand to start over, his fingers exploring once more Nora’s naked body; counting over again, one by one, stroking each mark, touching the warty relief of each freckle. Trial and error.

He blinks and moistens his thin lips, then stops as he has grown tired of counting. Maths are not his thing after all. In fact, Hancock’s one of those crazy and absurd idealists that thinks that numbers and its strange formulas are useless. Right now, his mind wanders all over the place—from one end of her body to the other, carefully analysing her.

Whoever said “third time lucky” never even got to three. After all, this is not one of those cases where 3rd time’s a charm (proof of that is the fact that Hancock won’t discover the exact number of moles on Nora’s back until the seventh time), but maybe it’s the moment in which instinct overcomes reason. As a result, he tries again, this time with the tip of his tongue, tracing invisible and wet lines, connecting her moles in a single star cluster as if they were constellations.

His hand stops, ending up in the curve of her waist before sliding down her belly to the nest of thick curls between her legs. His hot breath on her shoulder, his fingers caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and the back of his tongue running along the length of her milky neck.

A soft moan escapes her lips. Nora has woken up and proceeds to lazily slid her arms around his neck. And then, out of the blue, she pounces on him with abandon. With her back against his chest, she cocks her head, lunging against John’s mouth, which burns out as soon as her crimson lips meet his own. She caresses him with her hungry tongue, making him believe that she only needs him. The mayor of a town full of thugs and junkies. The failure. The liar. The damned and nasty zombie—Hancock.

She stops and watches him. Those irresistible lips of her tightened in unspoken disagreement.

“John…” she sighs and turns around, facing him. Her right hand running over his scarred chest, feeling the bizarre curves of that skin devastated by radiation beneath her fingertips. She has noticed, of course. Besides being pretty, his Nora is insightful and vivacious as well. He now understands the puppy-dog face that the damn MacCready won’t stop giving her. “What’s wrong, love?” she approaches him, placing a delicate kiss on one cheek while fondling the other with the back of her hand. “What are you thinking?”

Hancock opens his mouth, trying to answer that question he has no answer for—or at least one that doesn’t question his self-worth, making Nora angry. Then, he separates his trembling lips, but the words seem lost in his throat when he notices those soft fingers exploring every apex of his bruised face.

He shivers slightly, then let out a long, soft sigh, blinking slowly. The distance between their bodies is small, and the desire to explore each other’s bodies almost unbearable, growing stronger each second. He sighs once more. Again, as if he were still that disrespectful and naïve kid from Diamond City and rests his forehead against hers. He takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent and the sweetness and warmth of her skin.

“Nothing sunshine,” his inky-black pools flickering open to stare at her while cracking a shy smile. “Nothing.”

“Then don’t stop.”

 

She leans forward and Hancock does the same. Their mouths meet and, you know what? They fit. They fit perfectly, as if they were pieces of a jig-saw puzzle. She circles her arms around his neck and Hancock does the same around her waist, hugging her tightly. He can feel her hands clinging to the nape of his neck, her nails digging into his skull and her lips devouring his, so fiercely that he can hardly breathe. But he doesn’t mind— _What a lovely way to die_ —In fact, he would rather have her suffocating him with kisses. He wants her to keep kissing him like that, as if the world were going to end again and they were the only survivors.

Her arms run down his back and John takes the opportunity to flip her over, positioning himself on top of her. He continues ravaging her mouth, licking all around her plump lips while tenderly rocking his hips against her. He hears her moan under him and proceeds to slide his tongue down her body with soft strokes, running down her neck until he reaches the curve of her naked breasts, savouring them slowly, almost agonizing.

Nora arches towards him, gasping, and his name escapes her lips like a prayer. Hancock continues to adore her, gently squeezing those two mountains together and kissing them, moistening their pink peaks with his tongue. “Damn… Yer so beautiful, Nora. You know that?” he continues his ministrations, nibbling her nipples, licking and sucking them until, first one and then the other, harden with pleasure. “So perfect…”

He places butterfly kisses over her chest and notices a handful of moles that shine in her torso. He stares at the mark hidden beneath the curve of her left breast and traces the delicate coral areola with his forefinger, running it from her nipple to the small star-shaped mark.

“You know… Three points always form an equilateral triangle,” Hancock sighs, his warm breath tickling her silky skin and his rough fingertip sliding down to the second freckle on her stomach. “And having one on one’s skin is a sign of good luck.”

He strokes her abdomen with his tongue, skidding over the curve of her belly and scurrying into the crevice of her navel before climbing back to her waist, where the third mark awaits impatiently to be touched.

“Then it must be an inverted triangle,” she moans, sounding exhausted and hopeless. After all, Nora doesn’t believe in luck. Neither in lies nor in absurd superstitions. For her, it has been long since fortune escaped, like water between her fingers. Specifically, the day the world came to an end with the smoke of that radioactive cloud on October 23, 2077.

“Don’t be silly, you’re good luck.”

 _My own good luck_ , he whispers between kisses. It may sound like a cliché, cheesy or even repetitive, but in those moments, Hancock knows that all that karma stuff is bull. After all, no one like him should be that lucky.

Nora shudders at his words and her body trembles at the touch of his lips against her bare skin. Then, her eyes leave the musty landscape of the uncorked ceiling and settle in those black pupils.

“Damn, Nora. Don’t give me those puppy eyes. It makes me think I must be dreamin'.”

“Well, that may be true, you know? It is said that is impossible to distinguish being awake from being in a state of dreaming,” she emits a shy little laugh. “Don’t look at me like that! I read it in one the books that Daisy lent me.”

“Descartes, right?” he brushes her lips against her, feeling them more real than anything else. “Then I guess we have to seize the moment… In case this is all an illusion, y’know.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Hancock bends down over her, fusing their lips in a brief but passionate kiss—Brief. Too much for Nora’s liking. He sits up, pulling back a few centimetres to get a clearer view of the appetizing and delicate body that lies beneath him.

He moistens his lips and drifts closer, trembling with anticipation, and then places a tender kiss on the tip of her nose; the warmth of his breath caressing her skin in a way she thought forgotten. “Do you know what else we can borrow from Daisy?” he takes her face in his hands and smiles, gazing her with those jet-black eyes of his brighter than ever. “A marker, the one that lasts longer. And I will connect those three moles.”

Nora laughs, her warm reverberation rumbling against the walls of the room, and although the air continues to seep through the cracks of the window, Hancock no longer feels cold.


End file.
